Oh, This Life I Choose
by cityofmist
Summary: A series of short scenes in the lives of Sam, Dean and Castiel prior to the beginning of season six.


Sam stares stonily at the window of the house where Dean is living with a woman whom Castiel believes is called Lisa Braeden. They are eating dinner: Dean, Lisa, Lisa's son. They seem calm. Contented.

Castiel watches Sam, at first waiting, and then pleading, for him to go to the house and see Dean. He's spent days picturing Dean's face at this moment: disbelief, scepticism, confusion, joy. He doesn't know what would make Dean happier than seeing his brother again.

But Sam just watches. Castiel doesn't understand.

_Go_, Castiel thinks anxiously. _Please, go down there, knock on the door. _

He could appear to Sam and tell him so out loud. But that would raise questions, discussions he can't afford to have at the moment.

Slowly, agonisingly slowly, Sam turns away from Dean's house, from his idyllic new life, and by the time he's made it through eighty degrees Castiel knows he won't turn back. He watches him, uncomprehending and aching to reveal himself, say something. But that would be ill-advised.

Sam Winchester walks away from his brother, and there is something so fundamentally wrong in that that for a moment Castiel feels doubt of whether he did the right thing.

But no, he must return to Heaven. It's chaos there now, and they need to hear what he has to say. He has things to explain, so much to tell them, and as he imagines the faces of his fellow angels as he appears before them - the prodigal son returned, Lazarus risen, Moses come to free them all - and speaks to them of _freedom_ and _free will_, Castiel feels the slow burn of joy and anticipation rising in him, and he makes the decision to forget about Sam and Dean Winchester, just for a short time. Just for a while.

* * *

><p>Gwen Campbell is dark-haired and pretty, and she defers automatically, unthinkingly to Samuel, but there's wariness in her eyes when she looks at Sam. 'So you're Mary's son,' she says.<p>

Samuel nods for him. 'This is my grandson,' he says with confident pride. 'Saved the world, as near as I can make it out, and now he's back. I say we welcome him. Okay, Gwen?'

'I don't understand,' Gwen says. 'How'd you get back?'

'If you find out, tell me,' Sam says, and smiles. Gwen still looks suspicious, but she'll accept him. There's no real reason not to, especially when Samuel told her to.

'So what you got for me, Gwen?' Samuel says, cheerfully.

There's a pause, and then: 'Ghouls, we're pretty sure, in Illinois, but Christian went out there yesterday, should get it done pretty quick. Couple of spirits out near Hutchinson, two people dead. I'll take care of that, if you want. Nest of vampires out near…Seward, I think.'

Samuel grins. 'It's good to be back,' he says, and claps Sam on the back. 'So, kid, how are you with vampires?'

* * *

><p>Dean's watching TV when Lisa comes in, some daytime show with a cute little nuclear family who have petty arguments and trivial misfortunes and come out the other side as stronger and better people at the end of every 20-minute episode. There's a dark-haired guy in a suit who gets rounds of canned laughter every time he comes on screen, and a young, TV-show-beautiful blonde woman, and a geeky computer genius, and if Dean narrows his eyes enough to blur the picture he can almost believe he's watching the people he's lost, over the years, living their happy, jokey, entirely fake little lives upstairs.<p>

None of these fictional people are close enough for him to compare to Sam. Sam's not up there.

'Hey,' she says quietly. 'We need to talk.'

'Where's Ben?' Dean turns off the TV.

'Baseball. I didn't want to have this conversation with him in the house, but…' Lisa looks down, twists her small hands together, entwines her fingers. Dean watches her. 'Dean, you're drinking too much. And I know…I can't imagine what you must have gone through, with your brother, but you have to stop.'

Dean doesn't answer. He's running through the last two weeks in his mind, cataloguing every bottle, every glass, tallying up just how much balm he's been pouring into open wounds. He tries to remember the last time he was sober, not just not-drunk but properly stone-cold sober. To be honest, it's difficult.

'I know it's hard,' Lisa carries on softly. 'It's not like you should _stop _drinking, but just…not so much. Not with Ben around. I can't have him seeing that, Dean.'

'No,' Dean says slowly. 'Okay. I get it.'

'You'll…?'

'Yeah,' he says. 'I'll stop.' He gets up awkwardly. 'You want some coffee?'

Lisa's smile is wide and bright, the kind of smile you can have when you've never watched the light leave a thousand monsters' eyes, when you've never heard the fleeting, transient screams of a tortured soul, when you've never watched the person you care about more than anything die. 'I'd love some,' she says.

Dean smiles back at her as he goes into the kitchen, and tries to remind himself that this is his life now. This isn't an eternity in Hell. This isn't even some creepy Matrix version of Heaven. Dean should remember that he's the lucky one.

* * *

><p>Sam speaks quietly to the empty night air, composing the message in his head beforehand. 'Cas. This is Sam Winchester. I'm…back on Earth. I don't know what happened or who raised me. I'd sort of like to talk to you, since I don't know what's going on. Thanks.'<p>

He wonders whether Castiel will appear straightaway, with his serious expression and wide-staring eyes, as he usually does for Dean.

After ten minutes of silent waiting Sam goes back inside, brushes off Gwen and Christian's casual curiosity, and figures that if Castiel wants to get in touch he can do it while Sam's asleep.

* * *

><p>The leaves are falling. Dean kisses Lisa and tells her he'll clean them up, she can go relax for the afternoon. He spends a couple of hours in the garden raking leaves, clean, mindless work, and it's comforting to do something he doesn't have to pay any attention to, and let his thoughts drift.<p>

After an hour or so Ben comes out, home from school, and says he'll help. Dean stands there and rakes leaves and talks to the kid about things that aren't important, and he's starting to think that maybe he can be happy here. Maybe after a while, he'll be able to think of this as real life.

* * *

><p>Sam Winchester is praying to him again.<p>

It's been months, now, and while Sam's prayers are not constant they are regular, two or three times a week, a shot of guilt at fixed intervals. This time Castiel is meeting with his lieutenants, and he can hear Sam's voice floating around theirs. He does not allow it to distract him..

' - and three are unaccounted for,' Rachel finishes. _Hey, Cas, it's Sam again -_

'Unaccounted for?' Castiel repeats. - _I doubt that you're going to come - _

'Yes. It's unlikely, but they could have been taken captive.' _- but I'm pretty sure you can hear me up there - _

Castiel sighs deeply. 'What information could they give away?'_ - so just so you know, I'm still working with the Campbells - _

'They were low-level soldiers,' Sachael says. He was the commander of the lost garrison, and Castiel can see the pain and guilt of their loss in his face; or perhaps he is just projecting his own feelings onto someone else's expression. 'They'd have known all of our identities, of course, the ways the different garrisons are split, but not which heavens we're currently using for councils, or anything else too compromising.'_- it's going okay -_

'Nevertheless, this could be dangerous,' Castiel says. 'Not to mention that we have lost an_ entire garrison_. And Raphael lost - what was it?'_ - but I'd still like to talk to you, if you could find the time - _

'Four,' Rachel says quietly. 'Four angels.' _- I still don't know anything about what I'm doing back topside - _

'We need a new strategy,' says Illyriel shortly. 'Castiel, we can't continue like this. We'll be wiped out within a month or two.'_ - and I think you could help - _

'Oh? What do you suggest?' says Sachael coolly. _- so if you could make it down, I'd really appreciate it. _

'I am your leader,' Castiel interrupts, as Sam's voice, thankfully, fades away. 'It is _my_ responsibility.' He looks around at his council, and thinks of the garrison that died in his service, the angels that went before them and the angels that will, undoubtedly, follow. They gave their lives as the price of freedom. 'Believe me, I have a plan,' he says, his voice strong and clear. 'It may take some time, but I think I can save us, if we can only hold out for long enough.' He is buying time with the lives of his soldiers. 'I started this war, and I will do whatever is necessary to win.'

'Castiel, I mean no disrespect, but this plan of yours…I don't understand your refusal to tell anyone what it _is_,' Rachel says carefully.

'I'm sorry,' Castiel says, 'but…secrecy…is important.' He looks around, meeting each of his lieutenants' eyes. 'Have faith in me,' he says quietly.

* * *

><p>'So you'll start on Monday?' Chris asks, smiling. He's in his forties, surprisingly neat and clean for a mechanic, and he's a friend of Lisa's. Dean knows that this is mostly a favour to her. He's okay with that. He'll earn his keep.<p>

'Sure. Whenever's convenient,' Dean says.

'Lisa tells me you've got a classic Chevy,' Chris adds.

'Yeah, a '67 Impala,' Dean says. He smiles, as he always does when someone mentions the Impala, but lately it's hard to muster up the appropriate level of pride and enthusiasm. He hasn't been driving her as much recently. Too many things to think about, in that car.

'Nice,' Chris says. 'Well, I'll see you on Monday. I'm sure we'll be happy to have you.'

* * *

><p>Christian shoots Sam an admiring glance as he cleans blood and something else from a silver knife. 'You're pretty damn good at this,' he says abruptly. 'Took it down easy.'<p>

'Um. Thanks, I guess,' Sam says.

'Your dad trained you?'

'Yeah,' Sam says. 'He was a good hunter himself.'

'Samuel never liked John much, I don't think,' Christian says. 'But I always heard good things about him.'

Sam nods and continues cleaning.

'You think you're going to stick around?' Christian asks.

'Yeah, I think so,' Sam says.

'Well, it's good to have you,' Christian says, and holds up the silver blade to the dim ceiling light. It's spotlessly clean.

* * *

><p>'We've had a breakthrough,' Crowley says cheerfully. Castiel looks around him in distaste. He looks at the…instruments…lying around the table; they have been cleaned assiduously, but there are some faint traces still, stains that won't come off, and Castiel thinks he can see the pain and the screams still clinging to the metal. He can't, of course; he is being fanciful. Wasting time.<p>

'I'm glad to hear it,' he says. 'Your progress has, as yet, been…slow.'

'If you'd like to _contribute_ to the progress, you can feel free to criticise,' Crowley says coldly. 'You don't want to get your hands dirty. Fine. But don't come and complain that _I'm_ not getting the job done.'

Castiel sighs. 'What did you find out?'

Crowley grins, spins a knife between his fingers. 'Have you ever heard of these things called Alphas?'

* * *

><p>'No, never,' Sam says. 'What, they're like head vampires, head shifters or whatever?'<p>

'I think they're like the originals of the species,' Samuel says, voice flat and low but excitement burning in his eyes. 'The strongest, yeah, but if we could kill them, can you imagine? A whole species of monster, wiped out. No more vampires, no more shifters. Ever.'

'I've never heard someone so excited about genocide,' Sam says with a smirk. Samuel frowns, and he shakes his head. 'I'm joking. How can we find them?'

Samuel shrugs. 'I think we need to start bringing the monsters in alive.'

* * *

><p>Illyriel is killed by Raphael's forces, in the eighth month of the war. Castiel's forces, his lieutenants, are stunned by the loss, but Castiel does not allow himself to mourn; he appoints a new lieutenant to replace him, and goes to see Crowley.<p>

'We still don't have anything,' Crowley says.

'Why not?' Castiel says coldly.

'They've not managed to bring in an Alpha yet,' Crowley says. 'Which I'm sure I've told you before. On _multiple _occasions.' His voice is rising in volume. 'Why do you even bother coming down here?'

Castiel raises his right hand, turns it over, examines his fingers. He could reach out and touch Crowley, burn him out of his human body, and Crowley knows it. 'I suggest you work harder,' he says, meeting Crowley's eyes. 'I'm fighting a war here, Crowley. Time is of the essence.'

Crowley looks away, and nods. 'Okay,' he says; grudgingly, but he says it.

* * *

><p>Dean gets a call from Jack Sinclair, an old friend of his father's and Bobby's, asking him for help with a case: a group of vampires too big for him to take out on his own.<p>

'No,' Dean says.

'Come on, Dean, I need your help. They're killing people. You think maybe you should be out there stopping them?'

'Get someone else.' Lisa comes into the kitchen holding a few empty plates from around the house; she tilts her head at Dean and he mouths _it's nothing_. 'I'm sorry, Jack, but I've got a prior commitment.'

'That woman you're living with? Come _on_, Dean, it'll take a couple of days at most.'

'I'm sorry, no,' Dean says firmly, and hangs up the phone.

'Who was that?'

'Never mind.'

* * *

><p>Mark raises a hand in greeting as Sam walks in. 'Hey, Sam, you - '<p>

'We're going to Indiana,' Sam says flatly.

'What? Why? Did you finish with that djinn?'

'Yeah. That's why we're going to Indiana.'

'Sam, we can't just up and go to Indiana. What'd it tell you?'

Sam looks up. 'Nothing about Alphas, nothing we can use. But there's more of them. They're going after Dean.'

There's a long pause. 'Dean,' Mark says. 'You want to go save him?'

'Yes.'

Mark shrugs. 'Well, okay then,' he says matter-of-factly. 'Guess you'll be needing some help.'

* * *

><p><em>Now I lay me down to sleep<em>, Castiel hears, and he stops dead.

'Castiel,' Rachel says. 'Is something wrong?'

Dean. It's Dean's voice. Why is Dean praying to him, after all this time?

_Come on, Cas, don't be a dick._ 'Castiel?' Rachel prompts.

'It's nothing,' he says. He can't afford to waste time. Even for Dean.

He can't go. He _can't_.

Then: _We got ourselves a plague-like situation down here,_ Dean is saying, and Castiel stops again.

_Plagues, _he thinks. _Could it be…_

'I have a lead on the stolen weapons,' he says shortly. 'I need to go to Earth. Can you take over here for a short time?'

'What? I don't understand - '

'The _weapons_, Rachel. They're important.'

Rachel pauses, and then nods. 'As you think.'

'I'll be back as soon as I can,' Castiel tells her, and without waiting for an answer he closes his eyes and moves.

It's a hotel room, a decent-sized one. Sam is talking, with his back to Castiel; Dean is sitting on a bed with ugly sheets. He looks up the second Castiel appears, stares at him wide-eyed and indistinctly angry. Castiel can feel Earth settling around him like a cloak. It's exactly as he remembers.


End file.
